


The lost night

by madridog (FakeCirilla9)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Drinking, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mild Language, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, no betas were harmed in the making of this fic, while it's just a bit of silliness, wow this all sounds so serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26126167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/madridog
Summary: When you drop off the Champion's Leagues, there is no reason to celebrate. There are no objections, though, against taking comfort in a nice company.
Relationships: Luka Modrić/Sergio Ramos
Kudos: 15





	The lost night

"Where is that fucker? What is he thinking? That's the defence on Real Madrid's level?" Ramos came in the changing room like a storm in the summer. He looked equally violent and unpredictable as a force of nature, suit notwithstanding. His pose spoke of picking up a fight as his blazing eyes searched for the victim.

Varane leaned down to put away his pink shirt folded perhaps too neatly. They wouldn't have time nor mind for such trivialities had they won. Now it was better to occupy hands and thoughts with anything but the failure. 

Every face in the underground was grim. No one spoke much which made Ramos' words reverberate throughout the whole room all the more clearly.

He was at the defensive players' corner in a few purposeful strides. Varane's shirt was snatched from under his palms. The smoothened fabric creased in a strong grip of a tattooed hand as Sergio thrust the cloth at the younger player. 

"Do you see this badge? How can you even think of representing it after that dreadful show?"

Raising his eyes from the bundle of fabrics, Raphaël faced his captain.

"The match result depends on the entire team."

"But it was not the entire team that lost two goals. It was you. If not for you there will be extra time and then we would have a chance-"

"That's enough." It was not Varane who interrupted the string of accusations but Modrić.

Ramos half turned to him.

"No, that's not enough. We lost the fucking Champion's League in eight quarters _again_."

"Exactly, we. As Raphaël said, we are a team. We win together and we lost together."

"Thanks, Luka, but I can defend myself," Luka's efforts of drawing Sergio away were in vain as Ramos turned back to the speaker.

"It's a shame you can't defend your own goal," he said viciously.

"You speak like I was the only defender there. But you know who was truly missing on this encounter? You were. And that's why we lost. If you hadn't get another red card as you always do-"

He didn't finish. Sergio swung at him. The fabric got in the way and Varane dodged the main force of the blow but he wasn't quick enough to avoid the hit on his cheek fully. The man didn't stay behind, though, and, still bent, rammed into Sergio. They landed on the floor, wrestling while the others tried to separate them.

The fight ceased only when a splash of water was poured over the bundle of limbs on the floor. Zidane stood over the troublemakers, closing the empty bottle taken from the stock that always awaited the athletes at the edge of the pitch.

"Pathetic," was the first thing he said. "Royal club you behave no better than third league teams. We lost. We'll analyze it later to check what is to improve. A standard procedure. For now, just take a breath and think about the better future. And for fucks sake keep the appearance of unity before media." Zidane turned away from the two. "What are you all still looking at?" He addressed the rest of the gathering. "Get dressed and get to the bus."

Zidane like no other had a gift of making them all feel like schoolboys. Even if he was much more liked than some other coaches that glided through the history of training their team, he could maintain discipline.

Now they obeyed with no open objection and little murmur.

Varane left followed by the dark glare from Sergio who sat brooding on the '4th' place even though he didn't have any clothes for a change.

Farewells were scarce. (Professionals like Kroos or Benzema said them more out of duty than desire. Marcelo, whose unquenchable good humour shined even now if not like a sun then like a single ray of it, didn't miss a goodbye either.)

Modrić lingered until nigh everyone left.

"Don't," Sergio said, looking at him warily. 

"What? I'm not even saying anything!"

"I can feel your disappointment. Why else have you waited if not to tell me that was not a captain behaviour?"

"You can see it already yourself," Luka smiled slightly "You want me to wait for you as you change? We can take a taxi."

"I haven't played."

"But you're dripping wet."

Sergio looked down at his dampened suit as if only now noticing its condition.

"Shit. I will make Zidane buyback me this."

"I don't doubt that. But for now, you don't have anything for a change, do you? Try this."

Sergio grabbed the tossed shorts in the air. He examined them critically.

"Do you think they would fit?"

"Someone has a too big ego, don't you think?" Luka rolled his eyes. "They have an elastic waist. And besides, it's not like you're not wearing skin-tight things on a daily basis."

"Someone's watching me, huh? Why do you even have spare shorts?"

"Vanja insists the weather may change any moment," muttered Luka.

A moment of silence fell; between married men, none commented on who ruled in a relationship. Any man wearing a wedding ring knew that and the manly pride did not need to have it spoken out loud.

Sergio struggled to slide on the slightly too small boxers. 

"You don't have a shirt for a change too, do you?"

"No, but take just some of the reserves. Marcelo didn't play."

Sergio sniffed it suspiciously before replacing his white shirt and stylish vest with it.

"Why on the left side?" Luka asked.

"So we wouldn't be recognized at the town that easily."

"Are we going to hit the city?

"You suggested the taxi!"

"To get to the hotel!"

"Do you want to go back already?"

"Not really," admitted Luka, thinking of all the disappointed fans - which was the lesser problem, and Sergio's recent clash with Raphaël. It was better to keep the two apart for a moment's longer at least. So he sent a quick text message to Zizou and followed Sergio to the streets of Manchester.

***

"Where are we even going?"

"To drink some ale of course! We're in England... or Wales?" Ramos scratched his head, "gotta ask Gareth later."

Some ale turned out to be several pints of ale because they needed to - on Sergio's insistence - check out several bars. So far no one recognized them. Luka prescribed this rather to the abundant consummation of beer by the bar visitors and the general feeling of victory than their good disguise. With Ramos tattoos in plain sight, it was really a matter of time anyway.

"What is so interesting there that it beats my presence?" Sergio asked.

Luka turned back to him, meeting a grin with a glare.

"I'm making sure we aren't spotted by fans."

"You sure aren't suspicious at all looking around like an FBI agent in disguise." The Spaniard took a gulp of his beer. "Besides, what if we are?" Sergio shrugged, wiping his beard off the froth.

"You aren't really that popular outside Spain," Luka decided to speak plainly.

"What?" Sergio looked abashed. "I've reached 40 mln of followers recently!"

Giving up, Luka buried his face into his own drink. Over the brink, above his captain arm, he saw some people at the bar poking each other, turning their way more and more frequently.

"Let's get out," Luka said, "I need some air." Partly, it was true. Mostly, the last thing he wanted now was to be followed by a growing group of fans (or haters) into the rest of the night.

"I haven't even finished my beer!" Sergio protested.

Luka calmly took the glass from his unsuspecting grip and downed the cup.

"Can we go now?" The Croat repeated.

Sergio stared at him agape.

"What?" Luka asked.

Sergio closed his mouth and stood up reaching a hand to his colleague.

"You buy me another one for this," he indicated the emptied glass.

Luka looked darkly at him but nodded and took the offered hand. He let himself be dragged up and outside into the street. Lamps cast everything into an artificial yellow glow. Some water canal nearby - Luka wasn't sure where they were anymore - reflected the lights, creating a romantic atmosphere. Luka snorted at the thought.

"What's so funny?" asked Sergio's voice above his ear.

"Everything." 

"You're certainly an optimist. You know that we los-"

"Shhh," Luka put his hand to Sergio's lips to shut him up. He did the manoeuvre with his free hand as his other was hung over Sergio's shoulders. "Look at the bright sides. We started our vacation already!"

Hot breath assaulted his fingers as Sergio chuckled.

"Yeah. I can't imagine a better start of holidays than getting drunk with you."

"Thank you. But we ought to get back to getting stoned, don't you think?" 

Around them, fewer lights burned. They must have wandered out of a night clubs' main district. 

"You want to go back?" Sergio asked, turning them both in nearly a dance figure.

Luka thought of the looks they received from other bar guests, of the dawning recognition on their faces.

"Not really," he said.

"Okay. We'll find something else."

The world blurred in a whirl again. Luka stumbled. Sergio caught him.

"Sorry." Sergio mumbled, "maybe we shall sit for a while?"

"No it's all right, I can stand" Luka assured, not letting go of his captain, though. Sergio smirked at him but said nothing. 

They walked further a bit turning here and there deeper into charming paved alleys. People on the streets were scarce. The night breeze refreshed Luka enough to clear his head somewhat and he tried to disentangle himself from his best friend but Sergio's grip tightened on him.

"No," the taller man said. "You're like a little portable heater and I'm cold."

"Wow, I've got no idea why people think you a romantic," chuckled Luka.

"People just like me very much for my charming attitude," explained Sergio.

"Yeah, about people liking you" begun Luka, reminded of the far less than a charming attitude of his captain in the changing room.

"I know." Sergio cut him off, tense all of a sudden. "Can we don't talk about it now? I'll buy him a pack of beer and we'll be even. Hey mister," Sergio accosted a bypasser, "can you point us some warm place still open nearby?"

The guy surveyed them with such a long gaze that Luka sobered even more, fearing they were exposed and said his mental farewell to the nice evening nearing its end but the man did not ask for autographs nor did he took out his phone.

"Further down the street and to the right," he said. "You should see the neon then."

"Thanks."

"No problem. Have fun."

***

It was much warmer inside and Luka ordered some water, thirsty for anything that wasn't percentage. He listened to Sergio making some arrangements with the barman to pack a whisky bottle for a takeaway.

"Glad to see you pay your debts."

"Unlike some."

Luka frowned.

"You drunk my beer!" Sergio accused.

"Half your beer," Luka defended himself but raised a hand for another order.

It came with a straw so Sergio had to use it. Luka watched him with a fond smile for a while before remembering to look around for possible followers.

The guests did not pay them much attention, though. For they paid attention to themselves. Most were in pairs. Some lone newcomers searched for another single person in the room. And all of them were men.

A few lost couples danced on the floor still while most used the night to get better acquainted with each other in the privacy of the lounges. Luka spotted two or three pairs kissing. 

He turned to Sergio abruptly.

"Watch it," Sergio hissed putting a protective hand between his beer and Luka's frame.

"Sergio," Luka said urgently.

"Humph?" The captain of Real Madrid hummed in response.

"I think it's a gay club."

"Really?"

Attention picked, Sergio looked around himself. A wide smile crept onto his face.

"You're right. Do you think we should blend in ?" He put a loose hand around Luka's waist.

"I guess we already do," Luka pointed out. "I bought you a drink. That guy on the street must have drawn the same conclusions as he directed us here."

Sergio pulled him closer.

"Let's dance," he proposed, breathing hot air against Luka's neck. The shorter one tried to wriggle out of his embrace unsuccessfully.

"No," Luka refused quietly.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" 

"No!" His whisper was becoming theatrical. He forced himself to lower his voice. "How will it look like? They will think we are together."

"You said they already do. Besides, it's less suspicious than making out in a dark corner."

"We are not maki-ii-ahh!"

Sergio kissed him wetly on his neck under the ear then sucked in his earlobe shortly. Luka shivered.

"Okay, come on, you perv," Luka yielded.

***

After arriving at the hotel near the morning they barely had time to change and shower before the bus to the airport was ready.

Zizou followed them with a glare and Luka begun to wonder guiltily whether the signs of a night's drinking were so visible. The coach approached with a phone in his hand.

"Ramos," he snapped, waking Sergio up from the slumber he'd already drifted in, "what the fuck is this?"

Sergio blinked at the bright screen thrust in his face. Luka peered over his shoulder and blanched. How? He looked around for any fan, how had he missed a paparazzi?

"What's the matter?" Sergio asked, all innocence "you said we ought to show our unity to the media."

"Don't act stupider than you are. You know full well that's not what I meant."

"Chill out. This way no one will pick up on any strain within the team when they have pictures of the captain in a gay club."

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think! I don't bite, I only bark a lot in the comments sometimes ;)


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